Let The Hero Fall
by SherlockItsObvious
Summary: Sometimes, heroes have to lose.


"Sherlock, we're out of milk", muttered John as he was wandering around the kitchen, trying to keep their eyes from meeting. His eyes were locked to the floor beneath him. It's been two weeks since Sherlock has come back and it hasn't been easy for either of them. They felt a dose of awkwardness and suspicion between each other, but either of them was too afraid to say it.

"I know"

"Why don't you do it something about if for a change?", said John as he tried so hard to hide what can't be hidden. Not from Sherlock.

"I'm dead, remember?", muttered Sherlock while still reading the book he couldn't get apart of. Apparently. His long, blue robe was falling over the sofa he was lying on, with his head on the pillow, his feet bare. His gray eyes were either on the book, the ceiling or suspiciously looking at John. Those things John said when he came back, those swears and curses, that punch he took. It was all in his head, trying to find its rightful place. He didn't know whether any friend would react like that. Now, more than ever, he was sure that John does love him. And not just as a friend, but as something much bigger. He knew he could tell him anything, his deepest secrets, deepest feelings, but he wasn't sure. He didn't want to lose him. Not John.

"Sherlock, it's been two weeks. When are you going to let them know you're alive?", asked John and sat by Sherlock's bedside, so close, that Sherlock could feel the warmth of John's body next to his. He didn't know whether he could control his body, his mind or his heart anymore.

"What for?", said Sherlock quickly, glancing at the pages carelessly. They both had something they wanted to hide from each other, as the atmosphere between them grew more and more tense. Sherlock couldn't look at John, as if he knew John would be able to tell everything from his eyes, and John, he didn't dare to look at the consulting detective, because of the obvious reasons.

"Alright", said John while slowly getting up, "I'm out for a while". Sherlock didn't reply, he just stared at the book before him, trying to ignore everything that was happening around him. He grabbed the violin the moment John left and started playing those sad songs he used to play in the times of great grief. He knew there was something with John, and he didn't want to be right. Not this time. He gazed out of the window in disbelief, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know more. He saw John walking away in the direction of the restaurant they both knew well, of the restaurant that treasured their memories. Sherlock looked aside, not willing to accept the pain of the acknowledgment he just got. He put the violin beside him and sat against the cold window, like a child that got yelled at.

Footsteps were heard, Sherlock had to snap out of it. He got up and started playing any tune he could think of, but he couldn't go against his heart, every tune was a sad one. Even his heart didn't know if he's still alive. He quickly glanced at John. He wished he couldn't read people. He wish he didn't know anything.  
"Hm", muttered Sherlock, and rested the violin in its case. "Did she say yes?", he added as he felt his soul shattering, as his soul's pieces were leaving his sight.  
"How did you...", asked John still in shock.

"How did I know? You have cracks on your right shoe and also your right knee is covered with a thin layer of dirt, means you were kneeling. Your left hand is slightly shaking and we know it's not psycho-somatic, so you held it up for a while. Now why would you do that, I inquire. So what she said?"  
"Mary said yes.", said John as fear filled his eyes.

"Get out!"  
"Sherlock, what..."  
"Get out. Leave! Leave me alone!", Sherlock yelled as never before and John stood on his place, unable to move. He just stared at Sherlock, wondering if he got it all wrong. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't say anything.

"Fine, then I'll leave", said Sherlock and walked by John as quickly as he could, entering his room and slamming the doors behind him. The darkened room was reflecting his feelings, his thoughts and his heart. The moonlit was barely giving the room any light, just like his future - barely seeing the light at he end of the tunnel. He threw himself on the big bed in the center of the room and covered his face with his hands. He didn't know what to do, should he scream or should he proudly get out of the room and sincerely congratulate his friend for the most important step in life, a step that will push Sherlock off the edge. For real. He heard John's voice on the other side of the locked doors.

"Sherlock... That's not what friends do", said John while leaning onto the wooden doors, pressing his head against them as if they were his sanctuary.

"Friends. How I hate that word", said Sherlock for himself. John didn't reply, he just looked down in disbelief, as he tried to open the locked doors. "Go away, John. Please. Don't torture me", he said trying to sound calm, but his voice was breaking. He never cared, for anything. He didn't care what people thought about him, he didn't care if he couldn't have friends. But right now, he cared. A lot. He knew, if this happens, he won't fake it. He will jump. Not because someone would make him, but because he won't have a reason to live anymore.

"Should I write a note before I leave?", thought Sherlock as a tear appeared in the corner of his eye, shining brightly. He closed his eyes and the tear rolled along his cheek, making its way down his face, while unstoppably being followed by another one.  
"Look at me, crying because my best friend is getting married. Pathetic", he thought as he laughed bitterly through the heavy tears. But then, the laughter disappeared. Smile disappeared. The silence was killing him slowly, falling asleep felt as if he were dying.

Sun barely got through the drapes, making the dark room a little brighter, but the darkness was still winning over the light, and the pain was still overcoming any other emotion is his cold heart. Sherlock got up, barely standing, felt as if his legs would fail him any moment. His gray eyes were sad, not cold and some strange emotion could be read in them. Unlocking the doors, he wanted to stop and go back to isolation, to the way it was two and a half years ago, when he didn't care about anyone, when no-one could hurt him. Sighing, he made a step out of the room and went to the kitchen, where he knew he'd see someone he wanted so desperately to see and at the same time wanted to avoid by all means possible.

"Good morning", Sherlock muttered to himself. It was probably harder to look John in the eyes that it was to say 'I don't know' at that moment.

"Hello stranger!", said John and the smile crossed his lips. He was happy that Sherlock was there, he was happy to see him again. A strange feeling tore his heart, a feeling he first got when he thought Sherlock had jumped off that building. When he thought Sherlock was dead. He feared, this time it will be for real. He looked at the consulting detective and saw something strange, almost sad written on his face.

"Oh for God's sake", said Sherlock looking at the newspapers while a hot cup of tea warmed up his cold hands, "Another Reichenbach story? Don't people get bored from reading the same stories over and over?"

"Hm, you're very interesting phenomenon apparently", said John quickly and a thought that Sherlock might have gotten over the recent news flashed through his mind.

"Idiotic", added Sherlock and sat next to John, silently getting his breakfast ready.

"Listen Sherlock... We need to talk."

"No, we don't", said Sherlock carelessly, reading the newspapers that were his only escape at the time.

"Friends don't react like you reacted", whispered John sadly. Marriage was probably the worst decision he made, the one he made because he thought that his feelings were one-sided, that a cold person like Sherlock, a person of rational mind could never feel anything like love. So he didn't even dare to try to tell Sherlock, to open his heart, afraid he'd be humiliated and mercilessly rejected.

"Friends don't have fee-...", said Sherlock in a blink of an eye, but realized his words were coming from his heart, and that was something he had to stop from happening.

"I guess you don't want to be my best man then"

"Ridiculous. Just tell me on thing", said Sherlock while getting up from the table and leaving his unfinished breakfast, "Did you choose to get married because.. because of me? Because you cannot stand my appearance any longer? Was it because of something I have said? Something I have done? Is it my fault?", his voice was breaking, his eyes became teary. John saw now, he should have opened his heart to Sherlock. What happens next, he thought, will be completely his fault. John shook his head.

"No, don't be stupid", he said. Sherlock didn't stay long enough to hear the answer, he went back to his room and locked the doors again. He could hear John loudly calling his name, begging him to listen to him. To hear him out. But Sherlock couldn't listen to him, not now. He was afraid, his heart will start talking again, and that chance he couldn't take.

It's been two days. Sherlock didn't get out of his room at all. He didn't talk. He didn't eat. Only once he played the saddest melody a violin could play. John begged and pleaded, but Sherlock didn't say a word. John sat next to Sherlock's doors all night, he slept there leaning against them, crawled up, begged Sherlock to open. But nothing.  
"I'm coming in, Sherlock. I'm breaking in", said John and pushed the doors as hard as he could. He revealed a dark room, filled with heavy air, full of sorrow and despair. He couldn't see much, only a silhouette lying on the bed. "Sherlock...", he said while seating on his bedside, "It's not because of you. I'd give my last breath to you. I'd give my everything to you. I'd beg and I'd plead. Get down on my knees for you. Do most anything for you. You know that. You know that I'll always be there for you. I'm here to keep your secrets kept, cross my heart, hope to die. I love you, Sherlock. Not just as a friend. But I decided to get married, not because you've said something or done something. But because I thought I was the only one who loved . I thought... I was sure... I'm sorry. I decided to get married with someone I don't love, to get away from the one I hopelessly love. Forgive me.", he said and reached through the silence to Sherlock. But Sherlock wasn't there. Stuffed pillows and shirts, it's all that the silhouette was. John jumped in surprise. Sherlock wasn't there. Sherlock left. John pulled the drapes aside, letting the light inside, revealing the empty room. He looked around quickly. Nothing. Not a sign of Sherlock. When... How... No... Nothing. Only a letter on the desk. A letter that was addressed to John.

_I didn't want to say it this way. I didn't want to see the day I'd say these words to you. I didn't want to have to explain. Sometimes John, heroes have to lose. And I did. I lost you. For good. Would it make it any better if I say I did it all for you? I jumped for you. I'd do it again. I just want you to be happy. And you can't be happy with me around. But I guess it was just another roll of dice, just another star in the skies. I tried to touch it, but I couldn't fly. I always told you, a man has to face his own mistakes. I have to do that now. I have to jump, for real. No more faking, John. I didn't give my life to Moriarty, but here I am, on my knees because I'm too weak to fight the love. My love for you. I always thought John, if I had any feelings they would be for you. I see now, that feeling I got when I saw you're getting married... It tore me apart. It's more than I can take._

_Have all the luck in the world, John. Be happy. For me. Please._

_Goodbye, John._

_SH_

John was on the floor, tearing up. He covered his face and put the letter next to himself. He could only blame himself. He was the only one to blame, only him.  
"Sherlock... Why? Sherlock!", a loud scream escaped from his lips, breaking his heart, parting his mind.


End file.
